


A Boy Like That

by butcherface



Series: A Little Less Conversation [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Fake AH Crew, M/M, part of a series, this is only part one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butcherface/pseuds/butcherface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 1 of A Little Less Conversation. </p><p>Greasers and Socs aren't supposed to be friends.<br/>Michael knew that.<br/>Everyone knew that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Boy Like That

**Author's Note:**

> repost/refurbish of my rival greasers and fake ah crew au! hope it goes much better this time around.

“Tell us about The Kingpin.”

“Haven’t heard that name in a long time. He hated being called that, you know.”

“God damnit, Jones. Just tell us what you know. Everything.”

Michael grinned at the officers, taking a drag off his cigarette. The table was cold. The cuffs were even colder, pressed tightly on his bare skin. The jumpsuit was itchy. The lights were just a little too obnoxious.

“I have a lot to say about Ramsey. I’ve known him my whole life.”

Demaris visibly pressed his jaw tighter. He was frustrated. Michael raked his eyes over the officer, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth. His eyes flicked to Burns, who was facing the one way glass out of the interrogation room.

“Your relationship with him. Your relationship with Ramsey. Start there.”

Michael smiled wider, slowly grinding the cigarette butt into the ash tray.

“See? Was it so hard to get specific?” Michael cleared his throat. “A bird of prey. He had a long, sharp nose that hooked low on his face. His eyes were small, dark, but at the same time they were a brighter blue than the ocean. He led his crew proudly, quietly. Lots of people found him rather unsettling. Frankly, he was kind of a dork.”

 

\----------

 

Michael decided to take a two-step-punch, letting his momentum bring his fist to a solid stop against Geoff’s face. He could feel the sharp _crack_ of Geoff’s nose breaking. Blood immediately started gushing out of his face. The greaser grabbed his nose with his long, thin fingers. He glared at Michael, not daring to make another move.

 

\---------

 

“It was 1961. The year I started paying attention to him.”

“Paying attention?” Demaris asked, listening intently.

“Well, my momma never wanted me hanging around greasers. I was too good for those folks.”

 

\----------

 

Gavin quickly went up and grabbed Geoff’s shirt collar, pinning him against the fence. They were hidden behind the bleachers, the football field scattered with kids in early morning P.E. classes. Nobody had noticed them, or heard them. They had slipped away from their classes easily. They could hear other students yelling and joking with each other.

There was a clean split on the boy’s swollen lip, his already crooked nose was now knocked even further and bleeding. Michael rolled his wrists and smiled at Geoff, appreciating his handiwork. Ray kept his arms crossed, eyes darting around in search for possible teachers and coaches. Gavin leaned in as Geoff winced again.

“You don’t belong there. Maybe this time you’ll remember to avoid us, _fag_.” He spit the last word out, spraying Geoff’s face. “Now get out of here.” Gavin let go of Geoff’s shirt, shoving him in the direction towards the school. Geoff simply stared helplessly at Michael and Ray, sauntering off slowly.

 

\--------

 

“The guy hadn’t fought back once that time, he just took the beating. It was unlike him. We were quiet after it happened, kind of just staring at each other. It was September in Chicago.”

“So how old were you?”

“I was 18, Chris. I was a cruel 18 year old boy.”

Demaris stared at him almost sympathetically. Burns still wouldn’t look at him, just glaring away at something else.

“Come on, Burns. Aren’t you interested in my story?”

“I know this half, Jones. I went to that school too.” Burns spoke low and quiet.

“Ah, that’s right.” Michael laughed, pointing a finger at Burns. “You were there.” Demaris cleared his throat loudly and interrupted the short conversation.

“What happened after that?” Demaris questioned. His voice was shaky, as if Michael scared him.

“Well, I right went back to class. Nothing better to do. I made a stop in the bathroom first, though. That’s when it happened.”

 

\--------

 

Michael approached the back door of the building, taking the rock away that was being used as a door stopper and slipping back inside. The halls were empty. The silence was almost comforting. Nothing except the sound of his boots hitting the tile as he made his way towards the bathroom.

He entered the bathroom, approaching the mirror. He set his glasses off to the side on the counter. Michael turned on the faucet and let it run while he examined his face, checking for any marks or dirt.

His jaw was square, his nose round, his thick glasses framing his face. His hair was cropped close to his head, with the exception of tight curls up on top that were grown slightly longer. Michael sighed and adjusted his blue and white jacket, making sure the clean cursive ‘ _Jones_ ’ was very visible across the right side. He adjusted the collar of his plaid shirt, also re-tucking it neatly into his pants. He rolled up the thick sleeves and put his hands under the water.

He had a small amount of blood on his hands from hitting Geoff, but nothing that he couldn’t excuse as hitting a wall out of rage. Michael massaged the soap over his knuckles and took care in rinsing them with cool water, hoping the redness would go down.

 

\--------

 

“I was cleaning myself up. That’s when I heard it.” Michael managed to pull another cigarette out and Demaris leaned over the table to light it for him.

 

\--------

 

A soft sob interrupted his thoughts. He turned off the water and suspiciously eyed in the direction of the stalls. He had thought he was alone, but apparently not. Michael gave his hands a shake and grabbed a paper towel, drying them off before he investigated the sounds further. His thick shoes made a solid ‘thunk’ when he walked, and he heard a sniffle before the sob went quiet. A slightly ragged breathing drew him to the middle stall, and he stopped.

“You okay, man?” Michael said quietly, giving a quick knock to the door. He heard a ragged breathing again. “I know you’re in there. It’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you. Need me to walk you to the nurse?” Michael waited for some kind of a response. He let out a heavy sigh and looked around the bathroom again.

Suddenly, the door opened. Michael turned on his heel to see who had been hiding. He could feel all of the life leave his cheeks, turning a pale white. He was standing face to face with the kid he’d been punching not five minutes before.

A dark streak of dirt went down the front of his white shirt from when Ray had tripped him. His face was starting to blossom into a bouquet of bruises, purples and reds sprouting from under his cuts. The blood under his nose and around his lip had already started to dry and crack. His eyes were red and raw.

 

\-----------

 

“You’d think it was some rough lookin’ sight, but it wasn’t. He had those long arms, even longer legs, and he was thin as a rail.”

 

\---------

 

Michael looked at him, looked at what he did, and felt weak. His heart dropped in his chest, pulling his throat with it. Geoff’s eyes were wide and staring at him with a mix of fear and anger, looking at him like he was the single worst human being on the planet. Which--to be honest, he kind of felt like.

“I don’t need your help.” Geoff’s voice was small, and he turned to leave, but Michael refused to let him pass.

“Look- I’m sorry, really, okay? I am. We were protecting Gavin.” Michael said gently. Although Michael was bulkier and stronger than Geoff, he was still short enough that it required him to look up slightly. Geoff’s eyes were cold and belittling, glaring down at him.

“Protecting him how? The fact that he’s a foreigner? Don’t worry, not gonna tell anybody about your damn friend.” Geoff snapped, once again trying to push past Michael. The jock wouldn’t budge.  

 

\---------

 

“The British one, Gavin?” Demaris asked.

“Yes. He hid his accent pretty well in highschool. People didn’t like foreigners in Greenville.”

 

\--------

 

“You can’t tell anybody. He’ll probably get kicked off the track team. This town doesn’t take well to foreigners.” Michael’s expression changed to something hard and serious. His voice dropped lower, leaning closer to Geoff.

“I know. I’m not going to tell. Just, please, let me go.” Geoff sounded desperate and Michael sighed.

“Looking like that? No. I don’t think so. Get over here and let me clean you up.” The offer made Geoff’s stomach twist. He didn’t have any trust for this boy, who just skipped more than half of his first period class to punch Geoff a few times. He figured he didn’t have a choice though, and followed. Michael pat the part of the counter clear of mirrors and sinks and waited patiently. Geoff jumped up onto it and sighed.

 

\---------

 

“‘Why are you doing this?’ He asked me, like it was weird for someone to be kind to him.” Michael smiled fondly, closing his eyes and taking a deep drag on the cigarette. Burns spoke up.

“He was a greaser, a poor kid. It _was_ weird for someone to be kind to him.” The man said, squinting a bit when he looked up at the obnoxious light.

 

\------------

 

“Consider it an apology. I’m an asshole, but I’m not a bad guy.” Michael stated easily, wetting a paper towel and patting down Geoff’s face. He wiped gently over all of the dried blood, getting it off without hurting Geoff further.

“I guess so.” His voice was barely above a whisper, closing his eyes and letting Michael get rid of all the grime and blood from his cuts. He felt a cold sensation cover both of his eyes and his nose.

“Hold this. It’ll make your eyes not red.” Michael explained quickly, and Geoff obeyed, holding the cold towels gently.

Michael’s hands were calloused yet soft, and worked gently to make sure there wasn’t any more pain than necessary. Geoff appreciated the gesture, enjoying the company and kindness. There was a gentle tug to pull away the towel on his eyes, and the room was a lot brighter than Geoff remembered.

Michael was smiling at him when his eyes readjusted, and he felt embarrassed. Michael’s grin was honest and reassuring. He held Geoff’s hand to help him off the counter and let Geoff look over himself in the mirror.

The cuts were significantly smaller than he thought, and no remnants of a nosebleed ever happening existed. Geoff’s eyes were no longer bloodshot, and the worst of his injuries was simply bruises spreading across his face. He brought a hand to his jaw, turning his face and examining himself.

“Michael, is it?” An affirmative nod visible in the mirror. Geoff sighed and looked down at the sink, holding himself up with his hands on the counter. “Why’d he call me a fag?”

“Cause everybody thinks you’re a queer. You got that air about you.” Michael mumbled. Geoff looked into the mirror to catch the jock’s reflection. He looked...sad.

“That ain’t a problem for you, though?” Geoff asked, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Nah. Not really. Lot of folk got problems with queers around here, though. I’d watch it if you are.” Geoff nodded and swallowed hard. He turned around towards the exit.

“One last thing, Geoff.” Michael said quickly, holding a hand up. Geoff waited for the rest of the statement. “We gotta pretend we ain’t friends. Greasers and Socs, we aren’t supposed to be friends. Lads and Gents? Not supposed to talk. “

“You sayin’ we are friends, doll?” Geoff flashed a goofy grin, dropping the affectionate pet name.

“Yeah, I’m sayin’ we are friends,” Michael grinned back, “ _Doll_.”

 

\----------

 

“That’s how it started with him?” Demaris asked.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Michael smiled fondly at the memory. “It was the day my life really started. Bein’ a queer back then was a million times worse than it is now. The guy needed company. I wanted to be that company.”

Burns gave a disgruntled sigh, avoiding looking at Michael. His uniform was spotless and crisp. He had a golden name tag that contrasted nicely with his black uniform.

“What happened after that day?” Demaris broke the silence.

“It became our normal routine. I’d beat him up and then fix ‘im up afterwards.” Michael said simply, blowing smoke out of the edges of his mouth. “We became unbelievably close, but we had to pretend to hate each other. It was unfortunate, really.”

Demaris nodded solemnly, scribbling down notes on the hard yellow pad. He scratched his head nervously and looked back at Burns. Burns was pacing around, rubbing his face with one hand.

“Oh, Burnie, you look so stressed.” Michael cooed, resting his chin on folded fingers. The cigarette was burning slowly, dangling on his lip. Burns huffed aggressively and glared at Michael. It was the first time he’d looked at him throughout the entire interrogation.

“What else happened that year, Jones.” Burns growled through gritted teeth. He slammed his palms on the table. “You have to tell us everything about him.”

“His lighter can be found in my cell. It’s been burned out since ‘65. He gave it to me that December.”

“Why’d you keep a lighter that’s been burned out for twenty years?” Demaris leaned back, eyebrows furrowed together.

“Cause it was the only gift that bastard ever gave me.” Michael laughed, putting out his cigarette.

 

\-----------

 

“My uncle gave it to me. He said it’s supposed to be good luck or somethin’.” Geoff smiled, tossing the gold Zippo between his hands. Michael watched him, eyes on the lighter.

They were sitting next to a campfire, in the middle of the field, away from where anyone could ever see them. They didn’t want to be found. It was cold but not enough to snow just yet.

“Lemme see,” Michael asked, catching the lighter after Geoff tossed it. “Fink? Really?” He laughed, reading the inscription.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. I’ll change it to something cool as Hell one day. Just you see.” Geoff retorted, hissing out the words.

“Can I keep this until you do?” Michael wiggled his eyebrows and twirled the lighter between his fingers. Geoff turned to the fire for a few moments, considering.

“You know what, yeah. You can.”

 

\---------

 

“I’ve had it ever since.” Michael smiled big, showing all of his teeth.

“What else happened that year?” Demaris sighed, feeling like he’d gotten nothing.

“Well, until I went off to the war, nothin’ really. We did campfires, continued pretending to hate each other.”

“You know, Jones,” Burns shot another glare at Michael, who was smiling up at him. “You manage to talk a whole lot. Yet--you never say fuckin’ anything.”

“War? Which war?” Demaris prodded, sitting back up in his chair, re-interested.

“Vietnam. I was in Vietnam. For 9 years. ‘Till I lost my leg.” Michael chose against responding to Burns, and tapped his prosthetic against the leg of the table. The loud clank echoed in the small room.

“Jeez. A vet turned cop turned criminal turned prisoner?” Demaris sounded shocked--but there was an underlying tone of admiration at Michael’s accomplishments.

“What happened to you, Jones?” Burns sighed, settling on a spot against the back wall and crossing his arms.

 

“I fell in love, Burns. That’s what happened to me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Contact me at butcherface.tumblr.com/ask for any comments, concerns, or suggestions. Thank you for reading, this is going to be a wild ride.


End file.
